


Small Things in a Great Way

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 10 percent sexy smut, 90 percent crack, Big Dicks, Did I mention this is crack?, M/M, Pure Crack, Shame, Small Dicks, This is crack, Threesomes, and robb is generally just a darling, average dicks, bastard guilt, body issues, gross overuse of italics, jon is overwhelmed, srsly i don't think this is very sexy, theon kinda treats jon like an amusement park ride, ye be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 19:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Jon looks up in desperation, eyes flitting between Robb and Greyjoy, his chest tightening when he notices. Even hard he’s nowhere near as big as them. It comes out of thin air, this thought, utterly blindsiding Jon in its - ironically - magnitude.He has a small prick.





	Small Things in a Great Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Puke_Silver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puke_Silver/gifts).

> Dear @puke_silver!  
You might remember how all of this started and the conversation we had about dicks of certain actors - and since it's your fault I'm now violently in love with a certain actor (yours and half_life's) - here's my revenge. I hope it makes you smile. 
> 
> Thanks to @callmejude for prompting me in the right direction towards the ending ;*
> 
> Gentle warning for half-brothers-who-are-really-cousins-incest - it should be clear from the relationship tag, but to be on the safe side...

Jon can pinpoint the exact moment when he notices. He’s on his way to the pools, alone, since he’s been the one to put the swords away as usual while Robb and Greyjoy go ahead. Jon follows as soon as his task is done to Ser Rodrik’s approval, which takes some time and they’re often gone by then. Jon always bathes alone. So he’s surprised when he hears them as soon as he enters the godswood, laughing and hollering and water splashing. Jon starts to walk faster, already fumbling with his doublet when his gaze falls on them and he stops dead in his tracks. And stares. 

It’s strange, that it took him so long to realize how good they look. He’s not seen them like that often, sometimes one or the other or both, and mostly just halfway unclothed. And of course he’d never looked. Now he looks. Gapes really, afraid they’ll take his eyes out with their… their… Jon’s hands automatically wander to his groin and he cups himself as he continues to stare at his half-brother and Greyjoy. They’re not fully submerged in the water, both only dangling their legs in it and with those… those _ monsters _on display. 

Jon swallows and focuses his gaze on Greyjoy. It’s long. Really long. Half-hard, currently, and Jon watches in horror as Greyjoy’s hand comes to wrap around it and tugs. Quickly he averts his gaze, gasping when it lands on Robb. On _ it_. Gods be good. Hanging halfway down his thigh and so _ thick _ \- Jon yelps when Robb follows Greyjoy’s lead and takes himself in hand too - just about able to get his fingers around it as Jon watches in disbelief.

They both look up at the sound he makes, the movements of their hands ceasing. Jon’s head feels like it will explode any moment, hot and light. He’s never been so embarrassed in his whole life, what must they think of him creeping up on them and staring like that? He should go. To the Wall. _ Now. _

“Oi, Snow!” Greyjoy calls and Jon’s shoulders go up around his ears. “Why the fuck are you standing over there? You’re just in time for our little competition!”

Competition? Jon frowns at Robb questioningly, hoping he’ll shed some light on what Greyjoy is talking about. Here they are, acting like it’s perfectly normal for Jon to go around and stare at their… their… Aren’t they _ angry _with him??

“To see who lasts longest,” Robb informs him. “You don’t have to, of course, but it’ll be fun!”

Robb seems to be completely at ease, Jon notices in astonishment, not even a hint of embarrassment at the situation. But then maybe it’s only Jon again. Being the one who’s ashamed. Maybe this is how normal boys behave, boys who’re lordlings and highborns and don’t need to keep a lid on their desires to prevent them from running wild. Not that Jon has desires. But he’s heard of such things. 

“Shadowcat got your tongue?” Greyjoy teases, he always does with words and looks and now with his stupid hand on his stupid– 

Jon shudders, trying to keep himself from touching his own thing again, if just to make sure it stays calm. But too late, he can feel it stirring, growing, thickening - and that’s when it hits him. In this very moment. Jon looks up in desperation, eyes flitting between Robb and Greyjoy, his chest tightening when he notices. Even hard he’s nowhere near as big as them. It comes out of thin air, this thought, utterly blindsiding Jon in its - ironically - magnitude. 

He has a small prick. 

“It doesn’t count with your breeches still on,” Robb says. 

Jon’s gaze snaps to his face, staring at him in horror. He can’t let them see. Greyjoy would make endless fun of him and Robb… Robb the perfect lordling. Robb the trueborn son, Robb the loving brother? Robb would pity him. With a ridiculous little noise Jon turns on his heels and rushes away, tail quite literally between his legs, ignoring them shouting after him. It shouldn’t really matter, he tells himself as he hurries through the castle towards the safety of his chambers. It’s not as if he plans on doing much with it. 

No serving girls, no whores, not for him. Not when there’s even the tiniest chance of fathering a bastard. And it’s not as if Jon is ever going to marry. Take no wife and father no children, that’s what they make you swear when you join the Night’s Watch. And Jon is more determined than ever. He’s sure Father will allow it, in time. Maybe when he’s had his eighteenth name day, which is only seven moons away. It doesn’t matter if he’s small - in more than one regard. The brothers in black won’t ask to see his little thing. 

And yet. And yet he can’t erase the images from his mind, how big the other two looked. How much he loses in comparison. Maybe this is a bastard thing too. Maybe highborns are generally well-endowed while bastards are small. But then it would make no sense for them to be as lustful as everyone says. Jon doesn’t feel lustful at all at the moment, the only thing he feels is the thick, cloying weight of despair. It’s just not fair. 

Jon closes the door to his room, inhaling deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. Maybe it’s not as bad as he thinks. A part of him wishes he could just line himself up next to Robb and Greyjoy and properly compare - while a much bigger part of him is berating that other part furiously in his head for even thinking that. Well, he has to take a look, there’s no way around it. Jon quickly fumbles the knots on his breeches open, shimmying them down, and after taking a deep breath - he looks. And bites his lip hard to stifle a sob.

It’s hanging there like… like… well, not even all that much _ hanging. _It just exists, tiny and useless and maybe he should just go to the Wall right now and screw Father’s approval. Jon slumps down onto his bed, sadly looking at his thing nestled into the dark curls down there. If it wouldn’t be so small it wouldn’t look too bad. Not that he knows what is the standard for good-looking pricks. And it seems to be functioning normally, judging by the number of times he wakes up to find it hard and aching, or when he can’t bear it anymore and hurriedly tugs at himself until he spills after being forced to listen to some of Greyjoy’s cruder tales. 

Dejectedly, Jon wraps a hand around himself, thoughts involuntarily straying to Robb’s hand around Robb’s cock, fingertips just barely meeting and did he say already how it just isn’t fair? Robb really has it all. Trueborn first son, heir, future lord, loving family. Strong and tall and so handsome and then on top of that such a _ huge _ thing, all thick and long and - Jon swallows, a chill running down his spine when he peers down on his hand. Gripping his hardened thing. 

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. He needs to think of something else, _ quick. _Ros, maybe. Greyjoy’s favourite whore down at the Wintertown brothel. She’s beautiful. Jon squeezes his eyes shut, conjuring her creamy soft tits before his eyes, her beautiful red hair cascading over them… and lands inevitably at an image of himself scrambling away in terror when her thighs open, and Greyjoy huffing and shouldering him aside and–

Jon gasps, his hand moving faster on his prick as he pictures Greyjoy’s long cock diving into her - not that he’s seen that much, he definitely didn’t stay around long enough to watch. But somehow he can picture it all too well. Can imagine her moans and cries, telling Greyjoy how big and good he is just like the serving girls always twitter whenever they see him walking past. Jon doubts anyone would say that about him. And Greyjoy would moan too, or grunt, or say something like... 

“Snow, what in the Drowned God’s name are you doing?”

Jon frowns, eyes still closed. That seems like a strange thing for Greyjoy to say when he’s with Ros. 

“You run away from a wanking competition only to do the same fucking thing in your bloody room?”

Jon yelps, eyes flying open as he realizes with sudden clarity that he’s _ really _ hearing Greyjoy’s voice, he turns his head in shock to see him standing in the door, shit-eating grin on his face and, oh gods, Robb behind him, curiously looking over his shoulder at Jon, _ at what he’s doing_, and with a panicked squawk Jon spills over his hand. 

Heart beating like a war drum he sits there, staring at them like a startled deer. He must look like a complete moron, perching on the edge of his bed naked from the waist down like a stupid chicken with his bare legs and fondling his… oh gods. Still, he doesn’t remove his hand from his crotch, despite being sticky. He’d rather be glued to it for the rest of his days than let them see. Alright, that’s a stupid thought. He can’t very well join the Night’s Watch if his sword hand is stuck in his breeches. Although maybe he can learn to use the left…

“Snow!” Greyjoy bellows, startling Jon out of his haywire thoughts. “Are you even listening?”

Jon gulps, desperately searching for something to answer that isn’t ‘Shut up, Greyjoy’. But his brain seems to have taken a leave of absence, for all that leaves his mouth is a strangled noise. Greyjoy rolls his eyes which at least does spark a familiar hint of annoyance in Jon. Robb, good brother that he is, smiles apologetically. 

“Sorry to disturb you,” he says. “We just wanted to check on you.”

“We?” Greyjoy repeats, indignant. “Did I hear, _ we_?”

“Here,” Robb says, ignoring him, “_We _ brought a little something.”

Something dark comes flying at Jon and without thinking he raises his arm and catches the object out of the air - with his right hand. Jon holds onto the wineskin in his hand like a vice as two pairs of blue eyes simultaneously drop to his groin. Oh gods. Old, new, he doesn’t care, but someone please smite him _ right now! _

“Jon.” Robb says, voice wobbly. With suppressed laughter, Jon thinks bitterly. Robb takes a step around Greyjoy, tilting his head when Jon flinches. “Are you… are you alright?”

“You do look heated, Snowflake,” Greyjoy adds, grinning with mirth and with that stupid glittering in his stupid eyes and something in Jon snaps. 

“Alright, go ahead,” he yells, jumping up in a sudden surge of anger. “Mock me all you like, I don’t even care anymore! Make your jokes until your last breath, you utter prick!”

“Jon, what–” Robb starts but is glared into silence immediately. 

“I’ll join the Watch!” Jon shouts, angrily balling his hands to fists, tears welling up in his eyes. “They won’t mock me for being small, they won’t care that I’m not fucking everything with a pulse!”

Robb and Greyjoy exchange a short look, but while Robb still seems confused, Greyjoy is starting to grin like it’s his name day. He elbows Robb, who’d just opened his mouth to say something, in the ribs and takes a step forward. 

“Are you saying you have a _ little _ problem there, Snow? Any… shortcomings?”

“Huh?” Robb says, face like a question mark. 

“I HAVE A SMALL PRICK, ALRIGHT??” Jon hollers so loud he’s sure the Others have heard him. Not that he cares. They can come and get him, for what it’s worth. Undead men don’t compare their pricks, Jon is reasonably sure. He takes a deep, shaky breath, glowering at Greyjoy. “There, are you happy now?”

“Oooh,” Robb says, and before Jon can stop him or jump out of the window Robb has rushed over and pulled his doublet up and is now interestedly gazing at the source of all the trouble. Jon feels like fainting. What in the seven hells is even happening to him?

“I don’t know,” Robb says thoughtfully. “Looks normal to me. Pretty similar to Father’s, actually.”

“Kinky,” Greyjoy smirks while Jon is utterly occupied with retaining his consciousness. “Are you starting the dirty talk early, Stark?”

“Oh take your mind out of the gutter, Theon, we have a common bath chamber as you are well aware. And normally fathers do bathe with their sons when they’re little.” Robb snorts. ”Don’t tell me you don’t remember that from when we were boys.”

“Might do, vaguely,” Greyjoy says with a shrug. “But it’s not as if I went about cataloging cocks back then.” He nods in Jon’s direction. “Unpack the rest of him, now I’m curious what else Snow is hiding from us.”

Jon blinks, feeling as if he’s having the most bizarre dream of his life as Robb follows Theon’s order and starts undoing Jon’s doublet. Should he… refuse? Fight them? Throw them out and never talk to them ever again? While he’s still debating the matter with himself Jon notices that he’s lifted his arms to help Robb remove his clothes and is now standing there without a thread covering his body. Jon sways slightly. Maybe he’s dead and this is some kind of hell? 

“Well fuck me,” Greyjoy says, whistling through his teeth as he rakes his gaze up and down Jon’s body, making him feel hot and woozy. “Who’d have thought you filled out this nicely, Snow!” 

“It’s true,” Robb says simply, gaze as intense as Greyjoy’s. “You’re beautiful, Jon.”

Heat rising in his cheeks again Jon opens his mouth to protest, but on the way the words get lost somehow and all that comes out is a sigh as he hangs his head and points south. 

“I’m small,” he finally manages to get out in a strangled whisper. “Nothing like you or Greyjoy.”

“Drowned fuck, Snow.” Greyjoy rolls his eyes. “You can’t go comparing yourself to _ us _of all people. You’re perfectly average, right, Stark?”

“Perfectly average,” Robb echoes dutifully.

“_ We _ are just very much above average,” Greyjoy continues. “Real beasts.” He grins. “Do you want to know who’s really tiny?”

“No,” Jon says, making a face. 

“Jory Cassel,” Greyjoy continues, unabashed.

“I said I don’t want to know!”

“Tiny, I tell you, and I’m talking _ hard._”

“Would you shut up?”

“Like a pinkie, the poor man.”

Jon groans, annoyed so much he’s almost forgetting that he’s stark naked and discussing Winterfell’s array of pricks with Robb and Greyjoy. He turns to his brother, looking at him pleadingly. 

“Is there any way to shut him up?”

“Well, I know of one that always works reliably.” Robb grins, nudging Jon’s shoulder. “Stuff his mouth with prick.”

Jon thinks he must’ve misheard. But Robb just smiles innocently, and since Greyjoy hasn’t protested yet Jon begins to suspect it might be true. But what is he supposed to do with that information? And how does Robb know? And why is he still naked and stared at like cattle at a market? 

“I think now you’ve shocked him into rigor, Stark.” 

Greyjoy grins, _ coming closer, _and Jon starts when his long, calloused archer fingers stroke down his chest, making his stomach muscles jump as they make their way down and wrap around his stiff prick. Jon blinks, baffled. When did he get hard again? Greyjoy chooses that moment to give Jon’s prick a couple of strokes and Jon whimpers, trying to move out of his grasp - and bumping into Robb whose arms come around his waist as soft lips graze his ear. 

“Don’t worry, Jon. We’ve been doing this for some time, Theon and I. There’s nothing wrong with it. You’re allowed to want.”

Jon doesn’t want anything. Of course not, it’s wrong. Buggery. Dishonourable. Enticing. Wait, what? And before he knows what he’s doing Jon tilts his head, lips opening as Robb’s mouth descends on his. And _ oh, _ it’s soft and warm, a gentle pressure that ignites something in Jon’s belly, that makes him go slack in Robb’s arms and melt into the first kiss of his life. 

“Don’t be greedy, Stark!”

A rough hand takes his chin and Jon’s head is turned away from Robb and different lips cover his, harder, sucking on his bottom lip. Jon stiffens, he’s not sure he wants to kiss Greyjoy but at least he’s not talking, so this might be as good a method as any to shut him up. A chuckle vibrates against his mouth and Jon shudders, opening it and immediately Greyjoy’s tongue invades him, does things that make his prick twitch and the fire in his belly twist and curl. 

“See how it’s done, Stark? He’s clinging to me already.” 

Greyjoy laughs, and Jon notices he’s slung his arms around Greyjoy’s neck. Mortified, he lets go, biting down on his bottom lip. It feels swollen and tender. 

“I’m trying to ease him into this,” Robb says reproachfully. “Not scare him to death.” 

Jon turns to Robb to tell him he’s not scared to death, not at all, a little puzzled at the most. Which isn’t that incomprehensible, considering he just found out his perfect, honourable brother does not-so-honourable things with definitely-_not_-honourable Greyjoy _ and _ said brother and Greyjoy have both kissed him. But all of this completely flies out of Jon’s mind when his gaze falls on Robb. Who has used the time to undress. 

“Lock the door, Theon,” Robb says, eyes trained unwaveringly on Jon. “We might be here a while.”

***

Jon cannot believe what his life has turned into so suddenly his head is reeling. He’s in his room. He’s naked in his room. He’s naked in his room with an equally naked Robb and a currently undressing Greyjoy. It’s too much to take in. Literally. There’s so much flesh on display, they’re everywhere Jon looks and there’s no escape - if he isn’t able to spontaneously sprout wings and fly away. So. He really might as well go along with it. Can’t be that bad when even Robb is doing it, right?

“Snow, I swear if you cover your prick one more time I’ll cut it off and show it to _ everyone_!”

Jon flinches guiltily, making an effort to keep his hands at his sides. There’s an image he didn’t need: Greyjoy with Jon’s cock in a box, showing it to the whole of Winterfell. Would they all laugh? Greyjoy isn’t laughing anymore, at least not at the moment. He’s not lifting his gaze from Jon’s prick for a single moment, as if it were a particularly fascinating specimen. Jon can’t fathom why. 

“Jon.”

He turns his head at Robb’s gentle voice, mouth going dry when he sees him. Sprawled out on Jon’s bed, blue eyes warm… he’s so beautiful Jon wants to smack himself for not realizing sooner. A million contradicting feelings are rushing through him all at once, words crowding his mind. Honour. Wrong. Want. Fear. Trust. He trusts Robb with his life. 

“You don’t have to,” Robb starts. “You don’t have to do anything. But if you want… come here?” He smiles that familiar smile Jon has always loved. “I can only say that we want _ you _. But we’re not forcing you into anything you don’t want.”

“Speak for yourself, Stark.”

Jon shudders as Greyjoy uses his momentary distraction and steps up behind him, his body feeling cool along Jon’s heated skin. There’s a smile in Greyjoy’s voice, his hands rough on Jon’s hips, his belly, his - seven hells.

“Might have to ride that pretty prick, if he wants it or not.” Greyjoy’s voice and hands stroke, tease, pull gasps and whimpers from Jon as he talks into his ear. “But you needn’t be forced, right? You’ll lay back and let me have my way with you, stick your cock into something else than your fist. Would you like that, Snow?”

Say no, Jon tells himself, no he wouldn’t like - what exactly? His pleasure-addled brain can’t make anything of what Greyjoy says. Ride him? What, like a horse? It doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t know how deviants do it. Jerk each other off, he guesses as he bucks into Greyjoy’s hand with a helpless moan. Sword-swallower. Jon knows what that means, having heard enough of Greyjoy’s stories to put two and two together. Pillow-biter doesn’t make much sense though. 

“Do you hear me, Snow? I’m going to fuck your pretty cock until you don’t know what’s up and what’s down anymore.” 

Jon shivers, keens, his seed spilling out of him and over Greyjoy’s fingers, leaving him exhausted and ashamed. It never takes him long to spend when he handles himself, but this, now, with _ them_… They must laugh at him, at his base desires, so strong he can’t hold it.

“And you’re telling me I’m greedy, Theon?” Robb’s voice says teasingly.

Strong hands catch Jon’s shoulders and he’s maneuvered onto the furs, something wet wiping at his prick and thighs. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t want to see their looks. But he hears them, and what he hears has his cheeks burning. 

Greyjoy, sounding strained. “Would you look at him? Who in their right mind wouldn’t make use of the situation?” 

Robb, reproachful. “That doesn’t mean you can go and wring him out like that before I can even get my hands on him. See, he’s fallen asleep!”

The bed dips as Robb leans over, his hand stroking back the curls from Jon’s face. Jon makes an effort to keep his breaths regular, but it’s hard with that strange glow in his chest. They’re talking about him as if he were something to be fought over, some prize to win. Jon suppresses a deep sigh. It’s a good feeling. 

“He’ll be up and ready before we know.” Greyjoy says, a smirk in his voice. “Why don’t you let me take care of that in the meantime? Take the edge off, make you last longer when you fuck him.”

“Gods, _ yes,” _ Robb moans. “I want to fuck him for _ hours _\- ooh, yes, just like that - fuck, Theon!”

A wet, slurping noise fills the air together with Robb’s moans and Jon feels hot like never before, one shiver chasing the next over his burning skin. He wants to see what they are doing, wants to know what it is that makes Robb sound like that, wants to be the one to make him gasp and groan– Jon’s eyes fly open, and what he sees brings his spent prick to life so suddenly it nearly hurts. Greyjoy is kneeling on the sheepskin besides Jon’s bed, between Robb’s thighs, wide mouth obscenely stretched around his huge thing. 

And gods be good he’s never looked better. Jon stirs, can’t contain a whimper as Greyjoy’s eyes roll back in his head as he sinks forward and swallows more of that impossible length. It seems to choke him, his throat constricting and bulging as he takes nearly the whole thing, long fingers wrapped around what he can’t take. Jon lets his gaze wander from there to Robb’s stomach, heaving with strain, a trail of auburn hair leading to his broad chest, and his face… Jon swallows dryly, his heart stinging in something like pain. 

Robb’s mouth is hanging open, head tilted back and eyes closed… He’s beautiful. Jon had known that, of course he had, one had to be blind not to notice how good he looks. They both do, Robb and Greyjoy, both handsome in their own way, but Robb’s face like it is now, coloured with pleasure and abandon, is something else entirely. Before he consciously decides on it Jon sits up and reaches out, fingertips trailing over Robb’s cheek. Robb jolts, hazy blue eyes snapping open and he smiles as he sees Jon looking at him. Jon smiles back, shy and timid, and then he gasps when Robb kisses him hard. 

He kisses Jon like Greyjoy had kissed him before, tongue sliding deep into his mouth, wet and demanding, open-mouthed and breathless. There’s a choked sound from somewhere and Jon can feel Robb go rigid, he groans into Jon’s mouth before breaking away, panting, brow scrunched in pleasure as he thrusts his hips forward a last time and then relaxes. 

“Fuck you, Stark!” Greyjoy coughs, sounding hoarse as he continues to curse and splutter. “At least warn me before you get through to my stomach, will you? Fuck, my throat’s going to be sore for days.” He throws Jon a shrewd glance. “Guess you’re to blame, huh? Made him lose control…” He clears his throat, sitting back on his heels. “Decided to join in the fun after all, Snow?”

Well, it is better than being left out. There have been many days, many situations where Jon had been the third wheel to their friendship, always on the sideline when they drink or joke together, when they go riding and hunting, then cooling down in the pools. The only thing where Jon knows he is equal to them is when they train, when they spar and fight. He’s as good as Robb with a sword. He’s better than Greyjoy. 

Jon looks down on that other weapon protruding from between Greyjoy’s long thighs, seemingly endless and curving towards his belly, not as thick as Robb but still more than Jon. Not that that’d be hard. Even when he’s hard. Jon can’t help a little sigh as he eyes Greyjoy’s prick with something like envy. No wonder the serving girls like him so much. Which is a stupid thought. He’s not after the serving girls, Jon reminds himself, so it shouldn’t matter what they want. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re still stuck up about your prick.” Greyjoy sighs, licking his lips. “It’s perfectly fine. Rather pretty as far as cocks go. Oh what the fuck, might as well while I’m at it.”

Jon yelps when his thighs are gripped in an iron hold and he’s pulled towards the edge of the bed, and then he cries out in shock as Greyjoy bends forward and closes his lips around Jon’s prick. It’s… hot. Wet. At first it feels rather peculiar, but that only lasts a second before Jon’s eyes widen, his mouth opening in a silent moan as Greyjoy starts bobbing his head fast, as Jon’s prick is entirely engulfed in his mouth. Jon keens, thrusting forward without intent but it seems to be welcomed. Greyjoy sucks him harder, all the way in until Jon can feel his prickhead bumping against the back of Greyjoy’s throat and then he _ swallows– _

“He’s good at it, isn’t he,” Robb murmurs into Jon’s ear, kissing the sensitive spot behind it. Jon gasps, nods, can’t take his eyes off of what is happening to him down there, and Robb chuckles. “See how well he can take you in? He’s never able to take me down all the way. That must feel amazing.”

“Amazing,” Jon echoes breathlessly, shivering when Robb starts to suck on his neck. “_Gods… _”

“He said he’s going to let you fuck him,” Robb goes on, nibbling at Jon’s shoulder. “I’m rather envious, he almost never lets me fuck him.”

“That,” Greyjoy says, having pulled off, “is because that’s not a cock you have there, Stark, it’s a fucking battering ram. I’m not keen on being unable to sit for days. And,” he concludes with a wink, “I do like your arse quite a lot.”

Jon groans in confusion, watching in surprise as his own traitorous hands reach out to tangle in Greyjoy’s hair and tug. He just wants him to stop talking. He wants more of his mouth. 

“What? Oh no, not now.” Greyjoy laughs, getting to his feet in a fluid motion that makes Jon’s prick jump. “Lay back, Snowbell, I’m going to make good on my promise. Want to feel that pretty cock in me.”

And that, precisely, is the moment Jon understands what _ in me _ means. Like, _ inside. _Up the…

“But… how?” Jon asks, exasperated, but instead of getting an answer he’s pushed onto his back, and then Robb’s mouth is on him again, on his lips, on his chest, insistent and warm, and now Greyjoy clambers onto the bed and comes to kneel over Jon’s merrily bouncing prick and it is about to go _ there _ and Jon can’t want that, can he? It’s so dirty, so wrong, he could never want something like this. 

“Oil,” Greyjoy commands and Robb nips at one of Jon’s teats before he’s gone, presumably to get said oil which he tosses at Greyjoy. 

Jon thinks his eyes will pop out of his head as he watches what is unfolding right before his eyes, right above him, Greyjoy pouring oil over his fingers with a wicked smile and Jon shivers. He doesn’t want to do that, he _ can’t _ want that, it’s so – Greyjoy reaches behind himself with oil-slick fingers and does something and _ moans _ and – yes, Jon wants that very much, please and thank you. Thankfully he’s spared the harrowing task of actually asking for it, for Greyjoy makes short work of Jon’s prick and casually positions it as if he’s doing that every day and–

_ Seven FUCKING hells!!! _

It’s. Well, it is. There are no ways to describe what Jon feels as Greyjoy sinks down onto him with a hiss. First, it’s warm. No, not warm. It’s bloody hot, hotter than Greyjoy’s mouth had been, nearly as hot as the water when Jon takes a bath - but water has never gripped him so tight, nothing has, not even his own fist. It’s almost painful, the pressure around him, the heat of it, slicked and still not as smooth as he’d always imagined a woman’s cunt. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Greyjoy says, a little breathless but still sounding smug when he’s fully seated. “That’s just the right amount of prick to ride hard and fast.”

“_Gods…” _Jon stammers as Greyjoy starts to move. 

“Flattering,” Greyjoy grins, “but I’d say we start with Theon, eh? Or m’lord perhaps, seeing as you’re balls deep inside the future lord of the Iron Islands.”

He’s working his hips faster and everything starts to blur before Jon’s eyes as his prick glides in and out of Greyjoy – Lord G– fuck no, _ Theon, _and Jon desperately tries to keep his eyes open against the onslaught of pleasure. He has to see this. Has to watch Theon fucking himself on Jon’s prick as if it’s the best thing in the world, gasping and groaning when he comes down, a sheen of sweat on his skin, prick bobbing up and down and as hard as iron… 

“I’m sure your father would be overjoyed to see the future lord of the Iron Islands like this,” comes a voice from somewhere beside Jon and he starts, having forgotten for a moment that Robb is there. He’s idly stroking his huge thing, eyebrows raised at Theon. “Getting fucked by a Stark.”

“Half Stark,” Theon says and thus effectively stops Jon from tearing up mid-fuck at being called a Stark. “And what Father doesn’t know… fuck, _ yes _… I won’t tell him, you won’t - oh - tell him, and I’m sure our pretty Snowbell won’t… aaah… won’t either.” His mocking gaze meets Jon’s. “Right, sweetling? You wouldn’t … you… drowned fuck… you wouldn’t ever!”

Well, yes, Jon wants to say, I was just waiting for you do be done here so I can go hire a boat and tell Balon Greyjoy in person that I’ve just fucked his son. He doesn’t say it though, first, because it’d be an abominable waste of breath - breath he urgently needs not to black out - and second, this is rapidly becoming overwhelmingly good instead of just being overwhelming. Like, really good. So good his eyes fall shut and Jon moans, loud. His hands fumble for purchase, touching warm, naked flesh. He starts to grope at it, eliciting a groan from Grey– from Theon and then suddenly something wet hits Jon’s belly.

“Drowned fuck that was good,” Theon remarks as he climbs off Jon, leaving him still hard and very cold, and Jon opens his eyes to glare at him. Theon laughs. “Don’t worry, Jon. We’ll get you off again in no time at all.”

“Now it’s _ my _ turn,” Robb says as he’s shouldering Theon out of the way. He has a wet cloth in hand with which he wipes at Jon’s stomach - and Jon feels his face heating up when he thinks of _ what _ Robb is wiping away. “Did you enjoy it, Jon?” Robb asks when his task is finished. “Was it good?”

Jon’s eye gets caught by Theon who’s just returning to the bed, still naked, and with such a self-congratulatory smirk on his face Jon automatically wants to say no, he hasn’t. But that’d be a shameless lie, and while he may be a typical bastard after all he’ll not be a lying bastard. Besides, if he says it wasn’t good there’s the chance it won’t happen again. And Jon very much hopes it’ll happen again. Preferably soon. And so he just nods. 

“Good,” Robb states. “I want you to feel good.”

He stretches out beside Jon, propped on one arm while he lets his free hand roam over Jon’s body, up and down his stomach and chest, along the length of his thigh and over his sides, down his arms, until Jon thinks he might start purring like that tiny shadowcat Arya had found one day. He revels in the feeling of being cared for, touched, wanted. Robb takes his time, doesn’t rush this slow exploration, but he doesn’t touch Jon’s prick and maybe that’s because they’re half-brothers and shouldn’t – but _ gods _ Jon wants it. 

He raises a hand, cautiously, not sure if he’s allowed to do this. But Robb just smiles, nods, eyes warm with longing - longing for _ Jon _ of all people, and the last of Jon’s apprehensions dissolves in that blue warmth. 

“Are you going to cuddle for the rest of the summer now?”

Jon represses a groan. Trust Gr– Theon to ruin the mood. Robb, apparently able to read Jon’s thoughts and sharing his sentiments, growls. 

“Shut up, Theon! If I want to cuddle Jon until the end of time I’ll do just that and it’s absolutely none of your business.”

Jon swallows. Cuddling until the end of time is surely very nice - but it does sound a little boring. He was hoping there’d be a little more. Kisses maybe. Or fucking Theon again. Or maybe even…

“If you don’t take his maidenhood, Stark, I will!”

That, Jon has to grumpily admit, is exactly what he was thinking about. And while Robb being able to read his mind is somewhat okay, Greyjoy reading his mind is a horrible notion. As is the thought of being fucked by him. Yes, horrible. Unfortunately, Jon’s prick, the traitor, isn’t of the same opinion. On the contrary, it takes a gleeful leap, so gleeful it smacks against Robb’s skin. And for the umpteenth time that day Jon wants to leave the country. 

“You like that, Jon? Would you want Theon to be your first?”

Robb’s eyes are wide and eager, and Jon shakes his head. “You,” he whispers. Robb’s smile is brilliant. 

“Alright, love,” he says, placing a long, lingering kiss to Jon’s forehead. “But it’s quite a lot for your first time, aye? It’ll hurt.”

“I don’t care,” Jon mutters, feeling very brave. “But can I… first… could I…”

“Hm?” Robb asks encouragingly while peppering Jon’s face with small kisses. “What is it?”

“Do what Theon did to you before,” Jon whispers, then hides his face against Robb’s neck as he burns alive from shame. He shouldn’t want it, should he? It’s not - it isn’t what honourable men do. Aye, Grey– Theon did it but then honourable isn’t a term that comes to mind when thinking of Theon. But Robb seemed to like it too, so why does it feel so dirty to even suggest such a thing?

“Are you sure, Snowbell?” With a thud Theon slumps onto the bed next to them, stealing Robb away for a long and entirely too arousing kiss before administering the same treatment to Jon. Jon’s prick makes a pitiful jolt, spurting a little fluid. “You’re not trained yet to take such a huge challenge. Won’t you rather start with me?”

“Shut up, Greyjoy,” Jon and Robb say in unison and Robb grins, winking at Jon. “Just take as much as you can, love. Meanwhile Theon will prepare you for me… if that’s okay?”

Having no idea whatever Robb means with preparing Jon nods. Better be on the safe side to not miss out on any of these newfound pleasures. 

“Get up then, sweetling,” Theon prompts, giving Jon a not-too-gentle pat on his naked arse when he complies and gets on all fours, his head looming over Robb’s lap. 

It shouldn’t feel good – but of course it does. Jon isn’t even surprised anymore at the sparks shooting through him when Theon smacks him once more and he squirms a little to make him do it again. Instead two hands spread his arsecheeks and Jon squawks in surprise when the cold air hits his most private area. Theon chuckles, then whistles under his breath. His fingers glide over the crack down to Jon’s balls and up again and the whole situation is so absurd Jon wants to laugh. Or cry. Or maybe curse like a Braavosi sailor. 

He does neither of these things. Because now all of his attention is drawn to Robb’s prick. It had been only half hard so far but now it starts filling with blood and Jon’s own prick hardens even more in… sympathy, maybe, or admiration. It is. Just. So. _ Huge. _For testing purposes Jon opens his mouth as wide as it goes, nearly unhinging his jaw. How can this ever fit?? Greyjoy with his big mouth obviously didn’t have any problems, and Jon’ll be damned if he lets himself be outdone in this regard. 

“Alright, no, this isn’t going to work.”

What _ now? _Jon thinks, almost saying it out loud when Theon’s hands leave his arse. Really, Jon just wants to do this already! But Theon is crawling up until he’s beside them, arranging himself across Robb’s chest and looking down on Jon with a speculating gaze. 

“Er… Theon?” Robb says from behind him, but Theon only rolls his eyes. 

“You shush, Robb. He’ll strain his jaw before he even started. Do you want to explain to your Lord Father why Jon can’t close his mouth anymore? You,” he addresses Jon, “listen to what I say and follow my instructions.”

There are two parts of Jon violently warring against each other. One of them firmly tells him to propose a suitable place for Greyjoy to stick his _ instructions, _while the other part is quietly reminding Jon that, contrary to Theon, he has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t want to hurt himself, and he wants it to be good for Robb. So after a long pause, and a long glance at Robb’s giant prick, Jon slowly nods. 

“Good!” Theon is clearly delighted, his smile seems nearly sincere for a moment. “You’ve got a lovely mouth, Snow. Beautiful lips, perfect colour. You’ll look amazing with your mouth stuffed with prick.”

Jon blushes up to his ears, but he can’t help the warm feeling rising in his chest at the praise. Especially from this unlikely source. 

“Now open your pretty mouth, sweetling, yes, not too much. Make an O with your lips. Just like that, there’s a good boy.” 

Theon’s voice is surprisingly warm as he utters compliment after compliment, and Jon finds himself trying to be especially good to get more. 

“Taste him, Jon. Lick over the slit, tease it with your tongue... drowned fuck, you look amazing… yes, that’s it. Grab the shaft, a little harder…”

Robb moans when Jon does as he’s told and Jon’s chest tightens at the sound. It’s him doing that. It’s him making Robb feel good. 

“Good, Jon, just like that.” Theon’s hand is resting on Jon’s head, a warm, comforting weight, fingers playing with his curls. “Now open your mouth a little wider, take the head in, yes, good! He’s really big, watch that you keep your teeth away. Would be a shame to bite off such a marvellous cock.”

Jon can only agree - silently, his mouth is really full. But he’s starting to get the hang of this and, encouraged by Theon’s fingers carding through his hair, he sinks a little deeper. The tip of Robb’s cock hits his throat and for a moment he thinks he’ll gag, Theon’s hand in his hair stills - and then Robb cries out and Jon does it again, anything to hear that sound once more. It’s an effort, but after a moment he’s able to relax his throat. And takes more. 

“Fuck, Snow…” Theon whispers, awe in his voice, barely audible over the noises coming from Robb. The fingers in Jon’s hair tighten all of a sudden and his head is ripped back, off of Robb’s cock and then Theon’s mouth is on him, hard and urgent until Jon is left gasping for breath. He doesn’t get long to breathe though. Theon kisses him once more, a gentler kiss, before he grins, winks - and shoves Jon back on Robb’s cock and Robb fucking screams when Jon takes him down again. 

“A natural,” comes Theon’s voice from somewhere. “I wonder if all of your holes are as talented as your mouth.”

But before Jon can make sense of that there’s a warm, wet pressure against his backside, against _ that _ part, and Jon panics. He surges forward – directly onto Robb’s cock. It pierces his throat to the root, he can’t breathe, it’s too big–

“Gods, Jon!” Robb moans and slides both hands into Jon’s hair, effectively holding him in place. “No one ever took me so deep, you’re amazing, perfect, fuck… I can’t wait to fuck you… _ Jon!” _

From behind there’s a low moan and Theon sounds breathless as he speaks. “Fucking perfect alright.”

And just like that nothing matters. Not the feeling he’s suffocating, not the embarrassment of having Greyjoy finger Jon’s arse - nothing matters. They think he’s perfect. They want him. He’s _ wanted. _ He’s _ good _ at this. He’ll do nothing else for the rest of his life if it means they’ll say that about him. That they look at him like he’s something special. That they touch him and want him and–

Jon shivers, sweat breaking out all over his skin as he feels his prick pulse in the exact moment a slick, hard something is pushed into him. He cries out letting go of Robb for a moment as he arches backwards into that new touch. It’s indecent. Shameful. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt and in that moment Jon’s brain exits his body and he simply _ feels._

Heat. Unbearable, scorching heat consuming his whole body. The hardness in him doubling as another of Theon’s fingers joins the first, slowly dipping in and out until he can’t hold back and moves his arse against them to get more. Robb’s arms holding him upright, and Jon is clinging to him, breathing in the smell of fresh sweat and musk. The fingers gliding into him pick up speed, another, three entering him hard and fast, grazing a spot inside him that makes Jon see stars and a scream builds in his chest, he vibrates with it, needs–

“For the love of your old gods, Stark, make him shut up!”

Theon’s voice sounds slightly panicked but he doesn’t stop fucking Jon with half his hand, and suddenly he hits the particular spot dead on and Jon fucking screams – or rather, he would have screamed, hadn’t Robb grabbed him by the hair and pushed him face down onto his cock. All the way down. 

Jon trembles, unable to breathe, compulsively swallowing around the huge cock rammed into his mouth, his whole body spasms as Theon presses into him, as Robb tenses and floods his throat, as the world he has inhabited until now shatters into a million pieces and he’s no longer sure if he’s even alive. 

***

“He’s…”

“Aye, he is. Who’d have thought.”

“We know now.”

“You didn’t even get to fuck him.”

“Tomorrow’s another day. He must be completely exhausted.”

“He’s out cold. Looks kind of cute like that.”

“High praise from our Ironborn lord.”

“Just stating the truth, Stark. Drowned fuck, I want to wake him up and have another go at his prick.”

“You really like it, huh?”

“Wasn’t lying when I said it’s the perfect size. And he makes a pretty picture when he’s all blushes and awe.”

“Just you wait how pretty he’ll look with my cock splitting him in two.”

“Can’t be much prettier than he is now. Or like he looked with my fingers in him and your cock down his throat.”

“You’re right. Do you think he enjoyed himself?”

“The boy spilled, what, three times? I think it’s safe to say he enjoyed himself at least a little.”

“I hope so. I want him to like this, and I want him not to be ashamed of liking this.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to him becoming a permanent fixture in our sport myself. But I think we’re good. I’ve never seen Snow so relaxed.”

“Jon. Get used to it.”

“Only if he calls me m’lord – ouch, stop hitting me, you brat! Alright, alright, he’s dearest, loveliest Jon from now on.”

“Then he’ll think you’re making fun of him. Can’t you just stay with Jon?”

“Maybe. Do you think we can stay?”

“I guess. Nothing important going on tomorrow. Why, do you want to… _ cuddle _?”

“Shut up, Stark! It’s just convenient. I’m a practical man. That way we can start right away where we left off tonight.”

“Before breaking our fast? Greedy, greedy, greedy.”

“He really looks cute when he’s sleeping. Do you think he’s cold?”

A hand gently strokes Jon’s sweaty curls, furs are pulled over his naked body and two bodies frame him from both sides. Someone kisses his forehead while someone else buried his nose in Jon’s neck, whispering against his cooling skin.

“Sleep well, Snowbell.” A pause. “You’ll need all your energy for tomorrow.”

“Theon!” Robb chastises before he wraps his arm around Jon. “Let him sleep. Just…” He clears his throat. “Love you, Jon. Always have.”

You, too, Jon thinks, but he’s too tired to open his mouth, nevermind his eyes. Maybe this is all a dream, the hushed conversation he heard, the things they did, the things they said… Maybe tomorrow he’ll wake up alone and shocked about his wild dreams. But most likely he’ll wake up with Theon bouncing on his cock again. Funny, how the thought isn’t embarrassing at all right now. At the moment all he feels is a deep sense of peace, and maybe a hint of want beneath the surface. Jon smiles to himself as he drifts off. Seems he’s a lustful bastard after all. And it isn’t half as bad as he thought. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are wildly appreciated :)
> 
> If you want to have a chat about those boys or have a prompt for any combination out of them, you can find me on tumblr (owlsinathens)!


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